Dangerous Ways
by Li Young
Summary: Updated Chapter FourI was questioned about the prior events, and simply said a psycho was sitting in my apartment, waiting for my return and had wanted, for some unknown reason, to tear off a finger and a few toes. FxS, Readers Wanted and Appreciated!
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**- I do not own any of the characters of Cowboy Bebop.

**Author Note**: I haven't written anime fan fiction in what seems like forever, but I am going to attempt to write Cowboy Bebop stuff once again. I decided that this will be told from Faye's POV, and will not be one of those stories where Faye is totally at a loss without Spike. I believe she would live the way she had before, slightly wiser, slightly older, but otherwise the same old cocky bounty hunter we have all come to love/hate. So here goes….

**Title**: Dangerous Ways

**Rating**: pg-13 (Language, violence, some sexual situations)

_-PROLOGUE_-

I used to think that life couldn't get much worse than having amnesia, debts up to the stinking high heavens, and a gambling addiction. I used to think that my worst-case scenario for the day was losing all my money at the racetracks, and the best-case scenario was winning a few bucks to bet again tomorrow. I hadn't worried about the day after tomorrow, I hadn't thought about the yesterdays except in my nightmares, and I hadn't cared much about responsibility. I had lived my life from day to day, doing what I wanted, when I wanted, covering up the pain and insecurity by finding security in fulfilling my petty wants and needs.

Back then I hadn't had anything to lose or anything to gain.

Back then I hadn't known _them. _

"Easy come and easy go" had been my motto. But when they had come along, when I had fallen into the mismatched family on the _Bebop_, I had slowly begun to realize that if my dysfunctional family simply disappeared from my life, it wouldn't be "easy" anything.

It would be hard as hell.

Realizing that I couldn't just forget the Bebop and her crew, I had discovered that I had never really understood how hard life could be; I had avoided, or cheated, or run away from all the things that had made things tough for me. It had been so easy to forget the amnesia and the debts; they didn't cook me lousy meals every day, they didn't make me laugh, or share their dog food, or argue with me until I was blue in the face. I had made my life problems so invisible to me that they did not exist.

But Jet Black had existed.

Edward had existed.

Ein had existed.

Spike Spiegel… He had never wanted to, but he had existed.

And my love for them all had existed, too.

I used to think that life couldn't get much worse than having amnesia, debts up to the stinking high heavens, and a gambling addiction.

I had been wrong…


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer- I do not own Cowboy Bebop.

Title- Dangerous Ways

Rating- pg-13

CHAPTER ONE

(Two years after Spike's "death")

Location- Mars

When I woke up, glanced over at my clock on my nightstand and realized it was six-thirty on Saturday morning, I knew it was bound to be a bad day. There wasn't a good day in my history that had the potential of being dubbed "good" when I woke any time before noon on the weekend. I sighed, hand over my eyes, knowing that I wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep no matter how much I'd rather walk around in dreamland instead of reality. Dreamland didn't have bounties to pay my rent.

Part of me was relieved that I had gone to bed early the night before, having lost all my money earlier that evening to a couple games of black jack. There had been nothing to celebrate, no money to buy anything to mourn my sorrows in, and this morning I had no hangover to complain about. I quickly pushed the thought of a bad day away, thinking the day was already looking up.

And then I got out of bed, shuffled into my bathroom, put toothpaste on my toothbrush, held the brush an inch from my mouth and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the sink.

"Jesus Christ!" My voice echoed through my empty apartment as I held a hand to the frightened, panicked beat of my heart. Staring back at me was a sight to be seen and run away from; my purple hair, normally nice, smooth, and straight was sticking out of my head in every direction. It looked as if I had stuck a fork in my toaster and had gotten zapped. I had huge bags under my eyes, and a nice, big, red pimple on the middle of my chin that screamed to be popped. I knew I was a scary sight in the morning, but the ugly witch staring back at me was definitely more terrifying than the boogeyman at his worst.

In an effort to try and settle the tangle mass of my hair, I brought my hands up to smooth it out, only to realize that my toothbrush, pasted up and all, was still in my hand. The mirror reflected minty fresh goo clinging menacingly to the purple strands of my hair and I groaned in despair.

Today was definitely going to be a bad day. What the hell had I been thinking when I had thought it would be otherwise?

I threw my toothbrush in the sink, and moved to the shower, thanking God that the water was steaming; just the way I liked it. I stripped out of my oversized Bucky the Cowboy T-shirt, hopped in the stall, and stood under the soothing spray for awhile, thinking that with the way things were going presently, moment right here would probably be the highlight of my day.

I quickly wet and lathered my hair with shampoo, running and twisting my fingers around the sticky toothpaste and trying extremely hard to work it out. I felt I was doing a pretty good job, my hair almost successfully toothpaste free, when suddenly the smell hit me. Apparently the scents of jasmine and winter fresh mint weren't supposed to be mixed. On their own, both scents were appetizing, but the smell the developed in the combination of the two was nauseating. I quickly rinsed my hair, got out of the shower and toweled off, the smell lingering behind me as I ran out of my bathroom, throwing the fan on and slamming the door closed behind me.

I hadn't brushed my teeth yet, but I decided that it didn't matter, the smell lingering in my hair was worse than any morning breath.

* * *

"Hey, Fay- Holy shit, what the hell happened to you?" Jet had been reviewing bounties on his hologram screen and had nearly popped an eyeball when he saw me. 

I walked into the living room of the _Bebop_, hair unsuccessfully tamed and thrown up into a ponytail with odd ends sticking up here and there and toothpaste still clinging to the end of a clump. My pimple was still sticking out of my chin like another being, cover-up failing to do its job, and make-up having made the circles under my eyes only worse. I knew what I looked like and I didn't feel like remarking on my appearance to Jet who stood there with a grin on his withered face. I was already in a bad mood, and the fact that an old man was amused by misfortune was pissing me off.

"Did you find anything worth going after?" I asked sitting down on the yellow couch across from Jet. I ignored the way his mouth was still gaping open and leaned over to take a look at the screen.

Jet, who had been leaning close, moved back and covered his nose with his hand, disgusted. "What the hell is that smell? Is that you, Faye? Please don't tell me you got some new perfume?"

I glared at him. "I'm having a bad day," I replied through clenched teeth.

Jet gave me a sideways glance. "No kidding."

"Listen, are we going to do any bounty hunting today or are you just going to sit there making fun of me?" I knew I sounded a bit whiney, but I had toothpaste in my hair, a pimple on my chin, and circles under my eyes. I had a right to sound a bit childish, damn it.

Jet hid a smile and touched the hologram, bringing up a file on a Dingo Sanchez. "This guy is a small fry, but he's easy money, and I know that rent of your is due sometime soon."

I looked up at Jet with something close to appreciation for keeping in mind my rent date; I had forgotten.

Two years ago, when the rest of the Bebop crew had dispersed, Jet and I had stayed together. Not because we wanted to, but because it was convenient. Jet, though he had been an ex-cop and knew the ropes well, wasn't nearly as good on the field as he was at planning the field action. I, on the other hand, had a knack for doing pretty well on the field, even if my methods were a little clumsy. I imagined that our relationship had started out much like Spike's and Jet's relationship had been; lots of bickering and on target cooperation.

But through the last few years, Jet, maybe in his old age, or maybe because of Spike's death, he had softened. Our relationship had turned from partnership to a friendship that had become very dear to me, though I know I would never admit it.

Unlike Jet, though, I had remained much the same on the outside since Spike left. I still liked food, I still gambled my life away, and I still liked to get on Jet's nerves. But inside, I treasured my time, my life, every laugh, every tear, and every chance I took. I no longer did anything just so it could be forgotten, I now moved in ways so that everything I ever did could be remembered. Spike had viewed life as something unimportant, and I, as a result, had come to value it more than anything.

I no longer ran from my past, I faced it. Half of each bounty went to fixing my old life by paying the debts that I knew would never be paid in full. The other half paid for the expenses of my present life; the rent of my apartment, my food, and the fuel for my ship.

"Only 1,000 yen," I said reading the screen. "Dingo Sanchez, wanted for two counts of armed robbery and one murder." I rubbed my chin, hit my pimple and did a mental grimace. Yuck. "Last seen in Tandium. That's on Venus?"

Jet nodded. "Yeah, as soon as you docked, I set the _Bebop'_s course straight for the planet."

I leaned back into the yellow cushions and crossed my arms. "How did you know I'd agree to taking this guy on?"

Jet stood and stretched. "Because you've got rent coming up. You'd take hauling the Devil in if it meant paying your rent on time."

I felt a little defensive on his accurate observation. It wasn't that I was turning in my old habit of constantly being in debt, it was the fact that my landlord was scary as all hell. "Mrs. Ramierez is scary! I can't help it if I don't want to her make her angry, I mean, she'd probably tear all my hair out and cut out my heart if I was late on my payment!" I said sighing.

Jet laughed. "You shouldn't be talking about old Mrs. Ramierez like that, Faye," he said smiling. "You look scarier than I have ever seen your landlord right now. Plus, you smell bad. Mrs. Ramierez might be ugly but she always smells like roses." He moved to go through the door. "I mean, c'mon Faye, you have to admit that if that old bag was standing next to you at this very moment, she would look like a beauty pageant queen."

"Shut up," I said not really able to deny that remark.

* * *

It was five in the evening when we landed on Venus. From previous visits to the planet, I knew that if I wanted to keep my lovely voice, I needed to swallow down a couple special pills. Unfortunately, I had left them at home, and Jet didn't have any in stock. 

"I'm not going onto that planet, looking like the bride of the living dead, and talking with a chipmunk voice," I muttered to Jet as we stood near my _Redtail _debating on what to do.

"I don't know what you want me to do, Faye," Jet said matter-O-factly. "By the time we get back to Mars and find another guy close enough to snatch, Mrs. Ramierez would have already pulled your hair out and torn out your heart."

"Damn," I muttered. He was right.

"Don't you have any money on you?"

"No, lost it all on black jack last night," I said as I hopped into the Redtail.

Jet tried to hide a smile. "Hope you have better luck with this bounty."

"Me too," I muttered and closed the door to the pod. Great, just great, I thought as Jet walked out of the haul, and opened the dock's doors for me. I got the good fortune to catch this guy with a voice that even little kids thought was hysterical. I let myself hope for a moment that I could make the apprehension without using my voice, and then I remembered I was having a bad day, so probably not. Probably I was going to be screaming my head off.

I ignited my engine, cursing silently to myself as I tapped the radio icon on my screen in search of a decent radio station. Finding a considerably decent song filled with a good rhythm and an upbeat tempo, I went to the menu on my screen and brought up Sanchez's profile. I moved the _Redtail_ out of the _Bebop_ and into space, setting the coordinates of Tandium, and switching my ship over to automatic navigation. Then I took the time to study Dingo Sanchez.

Sanchez was dark skinned, and his eyes were a bright blue. He looked tough, frowning menacingly in his mug shot, eyebrows drawn together in a scowl that certainly suggested a big, bad attitude. His height measurements read five feet, two inches, and I instinctively laughed.

I buzzed Jet. "You weren't kidding when you said this guy was a small fry. He's midget size," I said into the intercom.

I could hear Jet laughing. "You know where you're going?"

"This guy likes his ice cream and was last seen in Danny's Ice Cream Parlor."

"Yeup, you got it. Be careful, Faye, this guy is pretty good with his gun." Jet's voice held a note of concern.

I disconnected. "A small fry that likes his ice cream." I snickered, cracking a smile and enjoying the amusement that rolled through me. "This is going to be cake."

* * *

I walked into the ice cream parlor, and every head turned to look at me. Personally, in jeans, a T-shirt that had "Angel" written across the front, and black boots, I thought I looked pretty normal. I was in denial about the hair, the dark circles and the pimple. My gun was in a shoulder holster under my jean jacket, and I sat down at a booth, looking around at the eyes staring at the toothpaste in my hair and hoping to catch a glimpse of dark skin and blue eyes. 

A waitress came in a bright pink uniform and smiled at me, pen and pad in hand. "Hello, welcome to Danny's Ice Cream Parlor." Her voice was sickening sweet, but I had to admire the fact that she didn't stare at my hair or crinkle her nose at the bad aroma surrounding me. She handed me a menu. "Our special's today are Space Cowboy's Delight, Hot Canyon Sundaes, Happy Danny's Float, and Cherry Lasso Shakes."

I pretended to skim the menu, all the while wondering who the hell came up with the names for the deserts. Talk about cheesy and corny at their worst. I pointed to a regular sundae on the menu, not wanting to say anything and reveal my chirpy voice.

The waitress looked down to where I was pointing and she nodded. "One Round-up Sundae coming right up."

It wasn't until she walked away that I realized I didn't have any money to pay for the sundae. My choices were, call out to her in a less than normal voice and cancel my order or, get up and walk away. Neither options sounded good, and I really wanted that sundae.

While debating what I was going to do, a figure walked passed me and after a few seconds I knew I had recognized the face. I stood from my booth, drew my gun, and shouted, "Dingo Sanchez!"

Dingo's head snapped up and he stared at me for a heartbeat. He was holding a huge ice cream cone almost a quarter of his height, and he looked absolutely surprised. Then a snicker escaped his lips, and that was when I realized everyone around us was laughing.

"Mommy, why is her voice so funny?" I heard a child ask his parent.

Damn it!

I took a deep breath, sighted down the barrel of my gun and glared at Sanchez who was now flat out laughing. Didn't he see the gun in my hand? I was going to shoot him! "Stop laughing or I'll shoot your ass," my chipmunk voice threatened.

"Oh yeah, girlie?" Sanchez asked.

"Grrr." Rabid dog on Helium.

"Come and get me, killer," Sanchez taunted laughing.

I moved forward one step, and the next thing I knew I was blinded by something wet and cold. I licked my lips, and realized that I was covered in ice cream; Sanchez's ice cream to be exact.

"Argh!" I screamed. "Son of a bitch!" Not only did I have toothpaste in my hair, I had chocolate gooey ice cream in my hair too! Anger bubbled up inside me as I wiped the ice cream out of my eyes, rage simmering underneath my skin as I caught a glimpse of Sanchez heading towards the back of the parlor.

I ran after him, jumping on tables, slipping and sliding, screaming in a high pitched, funky voice that I hardly noticed. How dare he! My mind raced. He had fucking hit me with fucking ice cream_. Ice cream!_

I chased Sanchez towards the back of the restaurant, through the kitchen and out the back door, slipping on the cement and almost falling. The next thing I knew a something whizzed passed my ear and before I could realize it had been a bullet and Sanchez was shooting at me, he shot again, just barely missing my right foot.

I ducked behind the dumpster, getting off a round of my own and missing miserably.

He had fucking hit me with ice cream and now he was shooting at me. Not only was this guy puny and pathetic, he was a jerk!

Anger surged through my muscles and suddenly I snapped.

Who the hell did this guy think he was?

I stepped out from behind the dumpster and started screaming. "Oh, this is just great, just fucking great!" I shouted in my helium induced voice, firing my gun blindly at him and not caring about the bullets that whizzed past my body. "First I woke up at six-thirty in the fucking morning on a Saturday! Do you know what its like to wake up that fucking early when you finally have the chance to sleep in! Then I go into the bathroom and look into the mirror and almost have a heart attack. A HEART ATTACK, for Christ sakes!

"On top of having a bad hair day, I get toothpaste in my hair. Do you know how hard it is to get that shit out of your hair!" I was so caught up in ranting, that I hadn't noticed he had run out of bullets about a minute ago. I also hadn't noticed I had shot him in the leg and he was on the ground unable to run. He reached into his pocket for more bullets and I shot his hand. "And then I noticed I had a pimple in the MIDDLE of my fucking chin. I'm twenty-five, _twenty-five_ year olds don't get pimples!" My chipmunk voice was so high that it was past screeching. "And have you smelled me?" I asked. "The toothpaste and my shampoo mixed together and now it smells like a dog took a shit in my hair!"

I think I started laughing hysterically around this point as I pointed my gun at Sanchez's head and stood over him. I pulled back the hammer. "And on top of ALL THAT, I am talking like a fucking munchkin on drugs." I paused to let out a breath of exasperated breath.

"Then you had to go and fucking throw ice cream at me. _Chocolate_ ice cream. Why would you waste good ice cream!" I waved my gun and he shrunk away. "And I could have dealt with the ice cream, but then you started shooting at me." I pushed the gun into his nose, and realized his eyes and nose were running like crazy. "I HATE being shot at," I said calmly.

Sanchez was sniveling like a baby. "Je-Jesus… You- you're… f-fucking CRAZY!"

Feeling a little bit better, I took the handcuffs out of my back pocket and clapped it over his good hand, grabbing the hand I had shot and twisting it, happy to hear his cry of pain. "Are you sorry that you threw ice cream at me and shot me?" My voice was high and sweet.

"Ye-YES!" Sanchez screamed as I hauled him to his feet.

"Good," I said happily.

* * *

I got home around three in the morning, money on my card, and too tired to spend it gambling. I had taken a shower, thoroughly gotten the smell, the toothpaste, and the ice cream off my person, soaking after wards in a rose scented bubble bath. Afterwards I went to my desk, exhausted beyond the point of sleep and turned on my laptop. 

No new e-mails had entered my mailbox besides ads and other useless spam that I deleted on the spot. The Mar's online newspaper held no appeal, and after reading my horoscope, I found myself bored out my mind and too awake to hit the hay.

I decided to check up the recent bounties, wondering if Jet would be surprised on Monday if I showed up with a bounty of my own. Usually Jet identified the guys we went after and I just went to recover him or her. I was lazy, and there was no other excuse, but Jet neither complained nor objected to our current arrangement.

I skimmed through Venus's bounties; the desire to return to the planet was thin and almost non-existent. Earth had a few, and various systems had a few as well. Nothing worth my time or my attention. I clicked on Mars, hoping maybe I'd get something local.

Greg Finder, 100 yen, Teddy Hatsen, 70 yen, Mary Gilbert, 700 yen… I went down the list, looking at the money offered for the bounty's retrieval. I scanned the long list, deciding no one was worth my time or effort. And then the last entry on the page caught my attention.

140, 000,000,000 yen.

Who the hell-

When I saw the picture my heart stopped dead in its tracks.

I tried to stand and fell, shock making my movements jerky and unresponsive to my will as I searched around for my phone, eyes glued to my computer screen.

I found my phone on top of my bed, next to my gun and it took me six tries to dial Jet's number.

"Hello?" Jet asked obviously having been woken up.

"Jet…" I lost my voice.

"Faye? What's wrong?"

"Je-Jet.." I couldn't get my mouth to say anything other than his name.

"Faye, are you in trouble, are you there?" I couldn't talk any more and I dropped the phone to the ground; my fingers had gone numb.

Then I sat down on my bed and began to cry.


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer- I do not own Cowboy bebop

Note (Author response):

**Heather**: I love you!

**Kenzier**: thanks for the support and the comment!

**Lexi**: Whee! You're my biggest fan. Without you, I wouldn't write at all. :sniffles:

**Rukusho**: Updating, updating… as fast as my little Asian fingers can type.

**Milky Wings**: Bad mornings suck, thank you for your comment.

**Neonlights**: Read ahead and see who mystery person number one is! Haha, I actually just got done reading Stephanie Plum, and I fell in love with the style. I actually was just thinking earlier that I was mimicking too close, and I am going to try and add more of my own style into this baby! But, one has to admit, Faye is a bounty hunter that can be really ditzy at times, and she can be real Stephanie Plum like.

**Coldqueen**: Faye… model of girl power! Hiyyyaaa!

**BrigidForest**- Yes, I did notice a lot of repetition after I wrote this… I will try and write a little more clearly instead of repeating myself. Thank you so much for the critique it is greatly appreciated.

Title: Dangerous Ways

Rating: PG 13

CHAPTER TWO

Mars was a dangerous planet to live on if you liked late night walks alone on the streets and had a penchant for trash digging in dark alleyways with only two ways out: the way you came in or a bullet to the brain. Hardly anyone left their homes without some form of defense, whether it was a gun or brass knuckles. Being completely helpless simply wasn't known on Mars; it just wasn't done.

As I slipped out of my apartment in yellow spandex shorts, a red hooded sweatshirt with "Devil" written in black on the left sleeve, and black sneakers, one would wonder where my form of self-defense was. There wasn't any place to hide a gun, and with my fragile frame it didn't look like I could kick the crap out of anyone.

But I wasn't stupid enough to walk out unarmed, right?

Since it was almost five in the morning, and I guessed that all the would-be psychos were in their beds dreaming of blood and cake, I thought that probably I was pretty safe without a weapon. Besides, running with a gun smacking against your hip, or in your pocket, or across your shoulder just made exercise pretty damn uncomfortable. Hell, even the small cell phone clipped to the waist of my shorts was uncomfortable.

I walked out of my apartment building, made sure my hair was tied tight in its ponytail, did a few stretches and began running down the sidewalk in the crisp morning air as if I didn't have a care in the world. Unfortunately on the inside, I was a knot of insanity. My brain was doing mental back-flips, and my chest was tight with more "caring" than I would have liked.

After I had dropped my phone with Jet on the line in my apartment I had stared stupidly at my computer screen for the next few minutes before I had gained a little bit of self-control. I had called Jet back and had told him to come over and have breakfast at ten. Ignoring his snide remark about me getting up anytime before noon two days in a row on a weekend was equivalent to Hell freezing over, I had told him I would explain everything later.

Then I had dragged out my jogging clothes from the back of my closet and gone out, trying to sort out the emotional and mental roller coaster I had been riding since I brought up the portrait of that 140,000,000,000 bounty on my laptop.

Spike Spiegel, wanted for the mass homicide of seven high-ranking officials of the Inner Solar System Police, a secretary, and the secretary's dog.

There had been background information on the incident, but I hadn't read any of it. I had been too transfixed on the name and the face staring back at me.

He had looked relatively the same as he had when he had walked out of my life. In his picture his hair was still green and fuzzy, his eyes still just a little bit mismatched, his face still long and angular, and his nose still long and thin. But the look in his eyes had changed. There was a sense of emptiness, a sense of lifelessness.

Anger was breathing heavily just underneath the sheen of sweat that covered my skin. Hope swam just below, and joy mingled on the undercurrents of any optimism.

He was _alive._

Part of me was screaming that the Spike I was looking at couldn't possibly _my_ Spike. The Spike I had known had gone off to die, the Spike I had known wouldn't have just left Jet and I in the dust.

But he had.

I pumped my legs, ignoring the scream from my lungs for air. That bastard had abandoned us; let us think he had been dead for the last two years! Practicality told me there was a reasonable explanation why Spike had left Jet and I behind. Blind rage and irrationality didn't care about logical excuses and told me that there was nothing in the whole galaxy that would justify Spike running away.

Thoughts raced through my head with less clarity as I continued to run at an insane pace and deprived my brain of much needed oxygen.

What if it was a scam, part of me asked. What if the picture posted for bounty was some imposter, someone who was just a look alike using Spike's tarnished but generally good name?

Suddenly I was thrown from my thoughts with a thump, sharp pain echoing from my palms and knees as soon as I hit the ground. My foot had caught on something and I had gone down without so much as a second to scream.

"Ouch," I muttered, looking over my hands and knees, checking for other possible injuries besides scraped skin.

That was when I noticed what I had tripped over.

"Oh, my God."

* * *

The first to arrive on the scene was a squad car. Two ISSP boys walked out of the car, the fat one walking towards me and the tall and skinny one walking towards Mr. Dead and Stiff about three feet away.

I stood from the curb when the fat cop got close. "Miss Valentine?" Fatso inquired taking out a pen and tablet to take my informal statement. His gut hung over the top of his pants, and with every step he took the fat giggled like jello. I imagined this guy had too many jelly donuts on and off the job.

"Yeah."

"You the one who called in the dead body?"

I gave him an annoyed look. Did he see anyone else on the streets sitting close to a body this early in the morning?

After a minute of trying to stare me down he asked, "What exactly happened?" He poised his pen, looking serious and absolutely absorbed in his task of writing down the next few words that would come out of my mouth. Probably Fatso did a lot of writing down statements. When you looked like you probably couldn't outrun even the slowest criminals you usually got stuck with the paper work.

"I was running and suddenly I tripped over a dead guy," I said indifferently. "Nothing else to really say."

"Did you see anyone fleeing the scene?"

I caught a camera flash and watched for a moment as the tall cop took pictures of the crime scene. "No, I didn't even see the body until I fell."

Fatso gave me a once over. "You'll need to come back to the station for a formal statement."

I shrugged, sitting back down on the curb and waiting. It was just my luck on top of everything else that I'd find the next item on the worm food menu. And somehow I blamed Spike because had he been really dead, I would have been in bed dreaming about winning millions at the slots.

A few other cop cars pulled up, their sirens splitting the air and my head, before the engines shut off and cops poured out onto the pavement like a disease. In a matter of minutes yellow tape was being put up, and cops were mingling, probably discussing everything plus the kitchen sink but the murdered victim.

The corpse had been an older man with wild red hair, on top of his head and on his chin. His face had been pale, his green eyes wide and scared, his mouth open in a silent scream forever. There had been a bullet hole right between his eyes, and he had been laid out in the middle of the sidewalk spread eagle.

"Usually you bring the bodies back alive," A voice said above me.

I looked up and caught Drake Shane staring down at me with a humorless smile. There was a flutter in my stomach as I stood and found myself very close to his body. Drake Shane, a cop that was just the side of clean, but who always succeeded in solving the majority of the cases he was given, was the man of my dreams. He was tall, dark and handsome with black hair, dangerous blue eyes that seemed to spark from within, and a body that was supermodel perfect. We had struck up a friendship working on a case together a year back. Jet had been off on vacation, and Drake had needed to find his man, and I had needed money for my rent. We had had a totally professional partnership much to my dismay, and had caught David Greendale all too soon before Drake and I had gone our separate ways.

Every now and then we crossed paths and a friendly hello was exchanged, unfortunately nothing more.

"Bring 'em back, dead or alive, is the bounty hunter motto, detective." I was thrilled that Drake was here, excited because I had a school girl crush on him that both amused me and made me feel very young. But the whole Spike thing and tripping over the cold feet thing had kind of frayed my nerves.

Drake grinned, amusement entering his eyes. "It's been a long time, Valentine."

A gave a small smile. "You got a cigarette?"

Drake reached into his pocket, stuck the cancer stick in his mouth, lit it, and handed it over to me. "Those things will kill you," he said looking towards where the crowd of cops were dissipating.

I inhaled some smoke and blew it out without an answer.

"You need a ride down to the station to file your statement?"

I gazed off at the coming day, the sun coming over the horizon of the distant buildings. I took another drag, and sighed. "You offering, Detective?"

Drake just smiled.

"Sure, that sounds nice," I said.

* * *

Drake pulled up in front of my apartment building in a beat up 4x4. The car was an old model, but Drake kept it in good shape, almost brand new except for a few dents and scratches here and there.

It hadn't taken long to file my statement. It had taken eternity and then some for Drake to get the details about the victim. Since Drake had been my ride home, I had to sit at the station twiddling my thumbs, waiting for Officer Shane to quench his curiosity. I passed the time winking at all the cute cops that walked by, humming, and counting the seconds inside my head, anything to get my mind off what would catch up with me at home; Spike Spiegel.

"The man you tripped over was Carl Craft," Drake said turning off the engine and leaning back in his seat. "Does the name ring a bell?"

"No, why would it?" I muttered.

I had my forehead pressed against the glass of the passenger window, eyes closed. When I opened them I knew my apartment would be looming over me, and inside my apartment my laptop was glowing in pregnant silence.

"No bells I assume?" Drake asked for confirmation.

"No, definitely no bells, maybe a screaming headache."

We sat in silence for a minute before Drake spoke again. "I'm assigned to a new case."

I opened my eyes and glanced over at him, quirking an eyebrow. "Anything you need my help with?"

Drake turned to me, blue eyes blazing, black hair messy over his forehead. He looked rumpled, and that was when I noticed his worn jeans and large worn T-shirt underneath a beat-up windbreaker. He must have gotten called out of bed.

"Have you ever heard of the name 'Spiegel'?"

I groaned and turned away and smacked my head against the window.

"Careful, you might break the glass." Drake's voice sounded amused.

"Just the glass? I was hoping maybe I might have broken my brain from thinking."

"And why would you want to do that?"

I opened my eyes and stared at my apartment building, the memory of Spike walking down the hall of the_ Bebop_, never to return, never to come back… until now. "What's it to you if I've heard of a Spiegel?"

"I'm working on a mass homicide case. Spike Spiegel is the one and only suspect." Drake's voice had gone serious, emotionless; his cop voice.

I sighed. "Yeah? Well, I saw his bounty." I quickly decided that my ties with Spike and what little knowledge of him I had was best to be kept secret until Jet and I discussed what to do.

"Carl was going to be called in for questioning. He reportedly had information that would connect Spiegel to the homicide of eight people."

This piqued my interest but I tried not to let it show. "Really? Sounds suspicious."

"Your name came up on a profile done on Spegiel. It said you were partners with him awhile back."

Partners? More like conditional enemies. I kind of stuck onto Spike and Jet like Band-Aids stuck on skin. I gave a smirk. "We weren't really partners."

"Any information you have on him would be helpful."

I turned and gave him a smile. "Not getting anywhere with any other leads?"

Drake was looking at me, grim faced and serious. "I thought since we had a working relationship that maybe you'd like to share information with me."

I opened the car door and got out. "I don't think I have any info that would be helpful in finding him. I mean I know he liked to eat meat, and hated it when there was never enough money to buy it," I offered swiping at the hair that had come loose from my ponytail. At least that statement was true; I hadn't even known Spike was alive until about three hours ago, and I knew that Spike hadn't liked beef with bell peppers without the beef.

Drake looked at me for a moment then started his engine. Staring out at the horizon, he spoke. "You know it's a federal offense to withhold information about a fugitive. You could be labeled as aiding and abiding."

"If you have any question of my innocence, my number is in my statement at the station."

"Faye, if you know anything-" His voice had come out a little more human and a little less cop.

"Thank you for the ride, Detective." I closed his door and walked into my apartment building without a glance behind.

I was tired. There just wasn't any other word for what I was feeling. My mind was wired with questions about Spike, about the dead body that had almost killed me. My knees and palms stung like fire, my eyes were sleep deprived, and my legs were felt like putty from the running. I was so tired, physically and mentally that I hadn't even had a sexual thought about Drake the whole ride back.

I punched the up button on the elevator and wasn't surprised when the door opened immediately. All the sane people were still sleeping. I got in, punched the number of my floor and leaned against the wall of the elevator, rubbing my eyes with my fingers. When I reached my floor, I stepped out and walked towards my door.

I had gotten my keys out and would have stuck them in the lock, but a man was standing in front of the lock. I quirked an eyebrow, focusing on him with a frown of disapproval. "May I help you?"

The man was tall. He had blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, green eyes that were emotionless and a mouth that would have been soft if it hadn't been set in a grim line. He wore a spiffy uniform, and my eyes strayed to the intricate designs on his shoulders when his voice jolted my eyes back to his face.

"Faye Valentine?"

My eyes narrowed and suddenly I regretted not having my gun. I took a step back. "And you are?"

The man smiled. "My name's not important." He took a step towards me and as I made to take another step he grabbed my arm. With his other hand he discreetly showed me his gun just inside his jacket. "Don't scream. Just open up your apartment door and don't try anything funny or your fish food."

Gulp. With heart pounding, I moved to open my door with Mr. Cute and Creepy right behind me, his hand tight around my upper arm. I unlocked the door with shaky hands, opened the door and walked in. When I heard the door close behind me I turned around and tried to sound brave. "What do you want?"

The man had his gun out now and was pointing it straight at me. "I'm here to kill you, Miss Valentine."


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**- I do not own Cowboy Bebop.

**Title**- Dangerous Ways

**Rating**- PG-13

(Author's note- 'tis a short chapter, guys. .)

CHAPTER 3

"_WHAT?"_

The man sighed heavily as if I should have heard him the first time. Unfortunately, when it came to people telling me that they wanted to kill me I was hard of hearing.

"I'm here to kill you." His eyes were incredibly serious and I was pretty sure he meant what he said.

My heart beat in my ears, and I saw my life pass before my very eyes. It wasn't much of a life, but it was _my_ life. I didn't want it to end so soon! I had tons more races to bet on, card games to lose, and cakes to eat.

Suddenly, amidst all my self-pitying, the man began to laugh. "Excuse me," I said putting my hands on my hips, anger spiking my gaze. "I don't think the subject of my life expiration is a laughing matter!" I said and stomped my foot for emphasis while looking around with my peripheral vision for something I could hit Mr. Psycho over the head with.

The guy smiled innocently and dropped his gun to his side. Mr. Cheery and Sweet with a sadistic sense of humor. Probably he got off as a little kid by pulling wings off flies. "I'm sorry, I'm not really here to kill you, Miss Valentine," he said moving back so he could lean back against the wall. "I just say that sometimes to see what reaction I get. I get a kick out of it, ya know?" He held out his hands, gun still in his right, in a gesture of harmlessness. "No hard feelings, right?"

What the fuck? "Yeah, sure, right, no hard feelings," I said laughing with insane relief and rage boiling inside my stomach. I smiled, choked on a laugh as I walked up to him. "I mean, why should I have hard feelings when you pointed a _gun_ at me and told me you were going to snuff me out like a candle?" I touched his chin with my finger, and he laughed his annoying laugh moving to push me away.

I slammed him up against the wall with everything I had and had the satisfaction of hearing his head crack against the doorframe. "What the hell is your problem, you sick fuck!" I screamed. I grabbed onto the front of his fancy jacket and tried punching him in the face. Who cared if I got shot; probably there weren't even any bullets in his gun. Probably it was a fake gun. Probably _I'd_ be the one killing _him._

My knuckle clipped his chin and I was shoved away.

"Jesus, honey, get a grip!" He was rubbing his chin as if he were in pain.

"Don't call me 'honey'," I spat. I pointed a stiff finger towards my door. "Get the hell out of my apartment, you loon bin!"

"Now wait a minute," the guy said putting his hands up. "Who's calling who a 'loon bin'?"

"Do you like being a sick psychopath!" I screamed at him. "Get the fuck out, or I'm calling the police!" I took my cell phone out.

Then it wasn't in my hand.

For a moment I just stared at my empty palm confused, ears ringing. Then I realized my ears were ringing because of the sound of a gunshot, and that my cell phone was on the floor, a nice clean bullet hole in the middle of it.

I slowly turned back to Sir Psychopath, and felt my fear returning in a rush. He had his gun drawn and had it steadily pointed at me. I needed to get my gun and maybe a bulletproof vest, because the look on his face was deadly.

I was going to die after all!

"Miss Valentine, please sit." He motioned to my couch as if it were his. His voice was stiff, emotionless.

I sat closest to the table on my right, thinking maybe the lamp on top of it would make a good bludgeon. "What do you want?" Point for me. My voice hadn't wavered.

"I want you to move towards the center of the couch, and far away from that lamp."

Damn.

"Good," he said happily as I did what he asked. He was all smiles and cheers again.

"What do you want?" My voice was more edgy than scared.

The man sighed as if explaining himself was going to take its toll on him. "Now, I said that I wasn't here to_ kill _you, but I never said I wasn't going to _hurt _you."

"_What_!"

"See, we need to get a message across to someone of your acquaintance. And we decided the best way to do that is to carve you up like a pumpkin." He said this matter-O-factly as if we weren't talking about life or death. "We decided that maybe if you were missing an ear, or both ears, or a couple fingers and toes that probably we'd get the message across to Spiegel, piss him off and make him slip up.

"We'd like very much not to kill you. You know, too much evidence lying around with a dead body and everything. And ISSP tends to track real hard for murderers." Bobbie scratched his head. "But mutilation cases aren't taken very seriously for some reason."

Gee, that put my faith in the law enforcement. "Well, shit, should I thank you for not killing me but for torturing me instead?" The sound of my sarcasm was as thick as my fear. I twisted uncomfortably in my seat. Personally, I liked all my fingers and toes on my hands and feet and I didn't like imagining my life without any of them. "And who is _'we_"?"

"None of your business," Pyscho said smiling.

"Oh, come on, if I'm going to get mutilated, at least I get to know by whom!" I was stalling, buying time for something; a moment for me to act or a miracle to happen or something. But this guy seemed to be a professional. After all the time we had conversed he hadn't moved himself or his gun a muscle; he had never let his guard down.

So I prayed Jet would come a few hours earlier than expected to save my ass.

Pyscho sighed. "Fine, you can know my name. It does seem a bit unfair to be maimed anonymously. " He sighed. "The name is Bobbie."

I smirked despite the fear choking my throat. "Bobbie?" It was like naming a pit bull Sunshine.

He blushed. "Yeah. It's kind of a bummer name for an assassin and a part time torturer, but oh well." He moved forward, gun in place. "I really don't want to do this, Miss Valentine."

I shrunk back into the cushions. "Then why do it?"

He shrugged. "Its my job." He took out a pair of handcuffs and threw them at me.

"Gee, Bobbie, kinky."

"Put them on, please."

I didn't move.

"If you don't put them on, I'll shoot you in both your legs so you can't run and then I'll put them on for you." Bobbie had gone all serious now.

Shit. I put the handcuffs on with shaky hands and Bobbie smiled approvingly, moving to help me fasten them completely. Then he stepped back and took out a switchblade that looked sharp and mean, and mentally I said 'ouch'.

"You know Spike isn't going to show up if you hurt me. We weren't what you would call 'good friends'."

Bobbie smiled and shrugged. "I don't ask why I'm ordered to do stuff. I just do it and I was ordered to maim your pretty little body. I could care less whether Spiegel gets a message or drowns in a river.

"Now, what should we do? What to cut off?" He wondered aloud. "A hand? No, without a hand you probably would bleed to death." A toe and a finger? What do you think?" he asked me.

Um, none of the above! "How about you just leave?"

He smiled, and it was almost ruefully. "You're no help. I think I'll just cut off a finger and a few toes. No one will notice toes missing if you wear shoes."

I had to admit, Bobbie was being awfully considerate given the circumstances.

"Okay," he said taking a deep breath. "Hold still, I promise it won't hurt for very long. Maybe a few weeks."

Maybe the rest of my _life_!

He moved towards me and my mind tried desperately to think of a way to get out of this predicament. I think maybe smoke was coming out my ears as my mind raced.

Bobbie came close, closer, closest, and that knife was gleaming angrily.

Shit!

Then the moment I'd been waiting for came. Bobby had to holster his gun if he wanted to carve me up like a Christmas turkey. He reached out with the knife, probably hoping the promise of a stabbing would keep me from moving, or trying anything stupid. But I liked all my fingers and toes, thank you very much, and I would rather die of a knife wound to the heart than lose any of them. If I had to act stupidly to keep my body in tact, I was going to act stupid. I kicked up as hard as I could in-between Bobbie's legs, and sent that man's testicles half way up into his body.

Bobbie's eyes rolled in the back of his head as he gasped, and he tipped over groaning. But not before slashing out at me and catching me on the thigh as I stood. Pain ripped through me, but I was up and running for the door, opening it and making my escape when I bumped into a hard familiar body.

There was a gunshot next to my ear and Bobbie's groaning stopped. I didn't have to turn around to know that Bobbie's groaning had been silenced forever.

I sagged against the body in front of me and cried.

**Author Response**- Hey you guys, thanks for reading! Yes, this is Spike and Faye story, but the first few chapters had to set up the scene for Faye's current life. I am wordy and I apologize for that, but I promise that Spike will be making his debut. As for Drake… well Drake is Drake, and he does have a role to play, romantic or no is up for debate. . I apologize for the lacking of action in the story, but I promise I will try and pick it up. , thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**- I do not own Cowboy Bebop.

**Title**- Dangerous Ways

**Rating**- pg-13

CHAPTER 4

My house was filled with cops and from the kitchen I could see a very dazed looking Bobbie being led away in cuffs rather than a body bag. When Drake had shot my would-be mutilator, it had been with a tranquilizer.

I was questioned about the prior events, and simply said a psycho was sitting in my apartment, waiting for my return and had wanted, for some unknown reason, to tear off a finger and a few toes. "No idea why the guy wanted any of my digits," I heard myself say. "Must be some new sick psycho fad."

Then the cops noticed the blood seeping through my yellow spandex shorts, and had called the paramedics over to take a look. I was bandaged quickly with strict instructions about taking it easy for the next few days. Unlikely that I would oblige by sitting on my ass for more than an hour, but for the good nurses' humor, I agreed.

Drake came by and sat at the kitchen table as the rest of the cops exited my apartment. I was sitting silently, head down, nursing a cup of coffee. Caffeine had this magical way of making my life seem not so bad, and after today's events, 'not so bad' was close to hysteria.

"You need to go down to the station to make another statement," he said after a few minutes.

"Again?" I whined sighing and putting my hand to my forehead with a choked back sob. I had cried for at least ten minutes on Detective Shane's shoulder after he had saved me. I had been tired and weary of the day's events. Tired of my bad luck and weary of trying to hold it all together. The whole Spike thing, the dead body thing, and the whole almost losing some very important body parts thing had me tipped over the edge. I had kept it all cool when I was being questioned, being bandaged, but as my door closed and Drake and I were left alone, I felt vulnerable, about ready to cry my eyes out again.

No more breakdowns, I swore to myself and finding my resolve.

"How'd you know which apartment was mine?" I asked, clarity suddenly dawning. "How… Why did you come to my apartment?"

Drake smiled sheepishly. "I checked for your mailbox downstairs and it had your room number on it."

I glared at him suspiciously. "Why'd you come here?"

"I had a bad feeling," he jested. After I glared at him for a few minutes he spoke seriously. "I wanted to ask you if you had any revelations about my case."

I gave a smirk. "Thought that's what you might have wanted to know." I sipped my coffee.

"Well?"

"Well, what?" I asked innocently.

"Any revelations?"

I smiled over my mug. "No, sorry."

"I don't believe you," Drake said with eyes narrowed.

I simply shrugged.

For a moment he looked at me with a serious expression, probably wondering if he should pursue the subject or let it drop. Did I really know something I wasn't sharing, or was I telling the truth? I was always good at lying, but it seemed that Drake could smell a lie a mile away. After a minute, wisely deciding to let the subject drop, he stood, looking in my fridge and taking out a beer. "Twice down to the station for a statement, and the day's not even over yet," he remarked popping the tab on the can.

"A little early to start drinking, isn't it, Detective?" I straightened my back and took a huge gulp of my cooling coffee.

"It's never too early to drink when you're called to look at a dead body just before dawn."

I sighed. "I think probably you're an alcoholic and you're just using your job as an excuse to drink."

Drake quirked an eyebrow, not at all offended by what I had said. "If you were in my shoes you'd probably be a drug addict_ and_ an alcoholic. Too many horrors on duty make narcotics and alcohol very appealing. Law enforcement isn't all that it's cracked up to be, Valentine."

I thought of all the blood and gore that found its way into my job as a bounty hunter. "Bounty hunting isn't as glamorous as it's cracked up to be either, Detective. Maybe we should switch lives for a day and see who squeals like a little girl first." I gave him a shrug as I stood, cup in hand. A jolt of pain shot up my leg, and surprised, I stumbled, dropping my mug and shattering it into a million pieces on the floor. Drake was there holding me up in a flash.

"Take it easy, Valentine," he said, lips very close to my ear.

The hair on my neck bristled at the feel of his breath on my neck, and I pushed myself away from his warm body, not wanting to be comforted right now. Comfort meant that I wasn't strong enough to deal with my shit alone. Not being able to deal with my shit alone meant that I was going to have a severe breakdown from all the anxiety and fear lurking right beneath the surface of my tattered courage.

"Excuse me," I said brushing past Drake, teeth clenched together as I moved through the pain in my leg. I grabbed paper towels from under my sink and began picking up the pieces of my broken mug. If I focused on one problem at a time I was going to be okay.

Drake smiled. "Let me help you." He knelt beside me, amusement inside the grim set of his eyes.

"No," I said vehemently and childishly. "I can do it by myself." I grabbed a piece of glass from his fingertips and was rewarded by a sharp pain. Immediately I dropped the shard that had cut me and put my finger in my mouth. Glaring at Drake as if my wound was entirely his fault, I stood, and walked, as best as I could, to my bathroom, dumping the other broken pieces in my other hand in the garbage by the toilet. Then I turned on the faucet of my sink so I could stick my now throbbing finger underneath the cold fall of water. I opened the mirror medicine cabinet and searched for a band aid.

Drake came and watched me as I cursed, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorjamb of my bathroom. "What's the real deal here, Valentine?"

"I cut my finger," I replied angrily. "What the hell does it look like?"

"That's not what I meant." He ran his fingers through his hair and for the first time since he had come to my apartment I saw weariness settle over him. "Why was that guy trying to cut you up? I know it has something to do with Spiegel and you're not spilling any useful beans."

It was true that I was withholding information about the real reason Bobbie had wanted to cut me up, but I just wasn't sure if telling the cops everything was to Spike's benefit or not. I wasn't exactly sure he killed those cops and that secretary, and I wasn't going to go headlong into giving up information that might help in his capture if I doubted he was guilty.

But why did I care? Spike had left Jet and I in the dust way back when. Why not offer my little knowledge of him up? The worm deserved my betrayal because he had betrayed me.

_God damnit!_

I turned the faucet off with such force that it squeaked with protest. I turned to glare at Drake, anger quickly replacing my anxiety. "You think I know why some psycho has a fetish for fingers and toes?" I gave him a look as if I thought the question was incredibly dumb.

"Yes," he said calmly. "I do."

I don't know what I would have said to that because my phone ringing in the other room interrupted the silence.

"Excuse me," I said trying to move past Drake. Much to my dismay, Drake wasn't so easily dissuaded. He wanted an answer, and his stance said he wasn't going to move out of my way until he got one.

Well, it was my fucking apartment, my fucking life. He had no place in it, and if he wanted to play tough guy in my home, he was going to lose the equipment that made him male, and he'd be walking home with his tail against his newly neutered groin. Just because I had the hots for him didn't mean I'd let him push me around.

"We're going to have to discuss your involvement with Spike Spi-" He began.

I snapped. "I'm having a really bad day, Detective. I already told you what I know about Spike; nothing of value. And have and never had an 'involvement' with him! Now let me answer my damn phone so I can get on with my life and forget about tripping over a dead fucking body and almost being cut up like Thanksgiving's next turkey."

He moved then and I picked up my phone eagerly.

"Hello."

"Faye." The voice made my heart stop. Maybe picking up the phone hadn't been the wisest idea. But then anger settled in; anger of my life being fucked up yet again by a man that had never been anything but a pain in my ass.

"What the fuck is going on?" I growled at Spike. "No, wait, hold on." I whispered angrily, not wanting Drake to hear. I heard the detective's footsteps behind me and I turned towards him, trying my best to muster up a polite smile. "It's my… my mother," I said lying through my teeth. "If you will excuse me, Detective. You know where the door is, and if you have any questions, you have my number."

Drake stared at me. We both knew that before working with me, Drake had done a background check on me. We both knew my parents were no longer alive, none of my relatives were. But without comment, Drake nodded and let himself out. Before he closed the door behind him, he said, "I'll be in touch. Don't forget to file your statement later on today." He turned to go then turned back around, worry in his beautiful eyes. "I could protect you, Faye. If you agree to cooperate and work with me, I could shelter you from any more incidents like this."

Mm… something to consider, I thought.

I waved him good-bye.

"Alright," I said into the phone when Drake left. "What the_ fuck_ is happening?" I tried to stay calm, but I think my voice was pretty close to hysteria.

"'Mother'?" There was amusement in Spike's voice.

"You're supposed to be fucking dead!" I wanted to shout, but instead I said this in a hoarse whisper, afraid Drake was still outside my door. "Dead, as in not living anymore, gone, space dust!'

There was silence. Then, "You're in danger, Faye." His tone was dead, emotionless.

"No fucking kidding!" I yelled this time. "Some guy just tried to fucking carve me up like- like some fucking pumpkin!"

"Shut up, Faye," Spike said with annoyance. "He didn't carve you up, apparently. You're talking on the phone. You're fine."

"That's not the point, you fucking bastard!" I was seeing red.

"Listen," Spike said with annoyance. "I didn't _have _to call you, but I did. So shut the fuck up and listen to what I have to say."

It wasn't a request, it was an order and I felt my nerves burn with rage. "Don't fucking order me around like I'm some docile little girl. Personally, I don't give a shit about if you're alive or not." I growled. "Get your shit together and leave me the fuck out of it, or I'm going after that bounty on your head and bringing you in!"

"You bring me in?" His voice sounded mildly disbelieving.

"Fuck off, Spike," I spat.

"Faye, shut up a minute and let me tal-"

"As far as I'm concerned you no longer exist. I grieved your death already; I'm not going to pull out the balloons and banners because you've suddenly popped up alive, you fucking asshole." I hung up after that, and went into my bedroom to grab my gun. I then went into my bathroom, put the gun on the edge of the sink, stripped down, turned the shower on and got in.

I needed to go gambling, to chase away all the stress with my addiction. I needed to spend money, win a little, but not with blood on my clothes, and on my skin. Shower first, gambling later. Everything else could wait. Not because it didn't matter, but because I didn't want it to.

XxXxXxXx

The past doesn't matter, I thought driving my sports car the street. It was beat up, but Jet had fixed it up to look brand new awhile back. I had sunglasses over my swollen eyes, had a tight leather skirt on with "fuck me" pumps on my feet. My white shirt was a button down blouse with buttons open all the way to the top of my black lace bra. I was dressed to kill, the pimple on my chin covered with make up, my eyes done modestly in eye liner and a purple powder. My lips were fire engine red, and I knew I looked drop dead sexy.

It was a good feeling.

After I realized that none of my gambling hook ups would be open this early, the good feeling kind of died.

The bandage on my thigh was covered by my thigh holster for my gun, and though I didn't have a permit to carry it concealed, my Glock was secure under the length of my leather jacket that hung to my knees.

I glanced at my clock, watching as nine fifty-nine turned to ten. I reached into my purse on the passenger seat suddenly remembering my arrangement with Jet. I dug out my cell phone and dialed Jet's number as I fumbled with the steering wheel. It rang five times before his voice mail picked up, and I left a hasty message telling Jet that I wasn't at my apartment and to meet me at Danver's Bar. We met there regurarly to discuss business, so I didn't have to give him directions. Unfortunately, it was too early for it to be open, so I decided I'd drive around and pass the parking lot in laps until I saw Jet's car.

In the silence of the car (my radio didn't work) I began to think as I drove.

Spike…

It was amazing how a single name could harbor so many emotions. Most of them were old and worn, but still sharp, still acute. Anger, hate, love, friendship, kinship, hope, rage…

Spike had wanted to talk about something but I had hung up on him. At the time I had thought I had done the right thing. At the time I had thought cutting him out of my life, and the danger he brought with him, was the right thing to do. Thinking now, I knew I had acted too impulsively. Great, just great, I had wanted to help him, and instead I had told him to fuck off.

I blamed it on my bad morning.

My leg ached, sharp and warm from my wound and a shiver of fear ran up my spine as I remembered how close I had been to being seriously wounded.

Then my phone rang.

Subconsciously I hoped it was Spike, hoped this phone call would tell me what the fuck was going on. I wanted to know why Spike never came back to us; never dropped a line to tell us what had happened to him. After all, despite the bickering, the casual relationships, Jet and I had lost something when we thought he had died.

And why, my mind asked, had we thought he was dead when he hadn't come back? We had never gone and looked, never had a body for evidence.

Because, I answered, when he left, his death was in his eyes. We didn't want a corpse, because we wanted to remember him as the alive Spike, not the dead one.

The constant ringing of my phone brought me out of my thoughts and I picked up. "Hello?"

"F..Fa-y..Faye…." The voice was hoarse, gasping, and bolt of terror ran through me. I was afraid I recognized the voice.

"Jett?" My voice was higher than usual as I heard him grunt in pain. "What's going on, are you all right?"

There was a silence and then a scream, Jet's scream, that had me veering sharply to the left, and then the right before the phone was disconnected.

"Jet!" I screamed into the phone, swerving off the road and almost hitting two on coming cars. Tires screeched and horns blared, but I hardly noticed.

I was having a panic attack for the seventh zillionth time today.

I frantically redialed Jet's number.

"Miss Valentine," a voice I didn't recognize answered.

"Who the fuck is this!" I'm hyperventilating, I my mind screamed irrationally as my breaths came erratically. Thoughts of what had almost happened to me filtered through my mind and hyperventilating then seemed like a good thing; I'd faint and the images would go away.

Drake had saved me, but if Jet had been cornered, who had saved him?

"Tell Mr. Spiegel we got to his friend. Tell him we're sorry we didn't get to you too." The phone was disconnected.

I redialed Jet's number, hands shaking, anxiety peeking. I got his voicemail, no answer.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit… SHIT!" I said throwing my phone down and revving my engine. I drove like a blind woman and ten times faster than the speed limit.

Before I knew it I was in front of Jet's apartment, and after that I was racing clumsily up the stairs in my heels. Someone broke down his door, and since I was the only one who had been in front of it when it had been closed, I guessed it had been me. Jet's apartment was a mess, and I drew my gun, looking around wildly. "Jet!" I called frantically.

His apartment looked as if there had been a struggle. His couch was overturned, lamps knocked over and smashed… and the blood… Blood on the carpet, the walls…

"Oh, God…" I whispered.

I looked around the apartment, finding nothing but blood and broken furniture. No Jet, no horrors, just the terror of the images my mind conjured. Jet suffering, Jet dying….

I felt like crying, but I knew the tears wouldn't bring Jet back. We had been at peace for so long, just doing our thing, living our lives, moving the fuck on. And then everything changed in a matter of fucking hours. My world had been turned upside down, inside out, and everything I had worked for in two years seemed worthless. "Damn it," I said emotionlessly. I didn't know what to feel, didn't know if I could at the moment. There was so much happening, so fast, too fast.

"Faye," a voice said behind me.

I turned and faced Spike, eyes watering, teeth bared. "Your fault," I said in a numb voice.

The shock of seeing him on my computer screen was nothing close to the shock of seeing him in person. He was taller than I remembered him. His hair was still out of control, his form still lanky and fluid. The only things that had changed were his attire and his eyes. The blue suit had been replaced by a black shirt, pants, and boots, topped off by a black leather jacket. His face looked the same, but his eyes, his mismatched eyes were dead, cold. There was nothing I recognized in those eyes, nothing I wanted to recognize.

"No," he said coldly. His voice was a jolt to my system. "I didn't bring you and Jet into this on purpose."

"And what is 'this'!" I shouted. "What have you _mistakenly_ brought Jet and I into?"

Spike smiled humorlessly. "Calm down, Faye, you'll pop a gasket."

I pointed my gun at his chest. "I'll pop something but it won't be a gasket."

He didn't even blink. "We need to talk."

I laughed without humor. "Sure, yeah, okay, so start talking."

"Not here," he said turning and walking out the door.

I followed him, not because I wanted to but because I had to if I wanted answers. As we walked down the stairs I had so many things I wanted to say to him.

_Fuck you!  
_

_What's going on? _

_Why did you leave?_

_Bastard? _

_What happened to make your eyes so empty? _

_What's changed? _

_And oh, God, what has stayed the same? _

_Bastard!_

Instead we walked in silence until we were outside. Spike pointed to his car, a black POS that looked like every other car on Mars. "We'll take my car."

I glared at him. "Why can't I take my car?"

Spike turned to me with a blank stare. "Because."

"You can't order me around."

"Watch me," he said with anger and then picked me up and threw me over his shoulder

"What the hell are you doing? Put me the fuck down, you fucking bastard."

"I'm not going to fight with you, Faye!" He shouted. It was the first time he had shouted since I had seen him again. "If you stopped acting like a stubborn bitch, I wouldn't have to use physical force."

I struggled in his grasp, grasping my gun and pointing it at his head. "I'll shoot!"

"No you won't." And he opened his car with one hand, threw me in the backseat, slammed the door, opened his door and got in the driver's seat.

I sat with my arms crossed over my chest, anger heating my gaze, rage boiling underneath my skin. "Spike-"

Spike started his car and began moving.

"What about my car!" I screamed.

Just then I heard a loud explosion. Startled I turned back around and saw my car up in flames. "My fucking car!" I screamed and tried to open the car door.

"I have the child safety locks on," Spike said.

"My car!" I screeched. "What the fuck happened! Did you see that!"

Spike watched me from the rearview mirror. "I blew it up."

"What! Why! Bastard, stop this car right this minute, you fucking lunatic!" I screamed. Then I sat back and put my hand against my forehead, suddenly very, very tired. "Nevermind," I groaned. "I don't want to know. Oh, God," I sobbed dryly. "Jet…"

There were tears just underneath my eyelashes.

"As of right now, Faye Valentine is dead," Spike said from the front seat. His voice was toneless. "As far as anyone knows, you died in that car back there."

I glared at him, too tired to be angry, too tired to care. Just numb, just oh, so numb. "Did you put a body in there or something? Did you fake my death?" I asked sarcastically.

"Yes," Spike said in total seriousness.

I don't know if I was tired or if I was in shock, or what. But the next thing I knew, I was swimming in darkness.

I thanked the high Heavens I had fainted. Reality was too chaotic right at the moment.

XxXxXxXxX

**Author Response- **Hey everyone, sorry this chapter is so long… I hope its not too pointless… I wanted to convey a relationship between Faye and Drake… so that's my excuse for the boring part of him and her talking.

**Lexi**- You're my biggest fan, girl. Thanks for all your wonderful support.

**Kendra**- Glad you like the story! Faye Who seemed to be so long ago… I hope this story is a little better written… Faye Who has a lot of typos and grammatical errors. I tried to be a little bit better in this story.

**XHatori-SohmaX****- **Thanks for the comment! Much appreciated!

**NeonLights**- I don't like Joe Morelli… probably because I like Ranger better. lol, but I am hoping that Drake takes on a different character than either of those two. Thanks for the comment! I always enjoy talking/conversing to fellow Stephanie Plum readers.

**DragonLadie**- Thank you for the archive, I am honored.

**Lily-Sama**- Thank you for the encouraging update.

**GenkiSakura25****- **Thank you for the nice comment! It encourages me to write.

**I am unfortunately a comment whore…. probably not a good thing…..**


	6. NOTE

**Author's Note- **

**Dear readers!**

Sadly, I am going to my parent's summer place for the remainder of the summer. The problem with this arrangement is that there isn't a work computer there except for a lap top that I am allowed two hours a week on. This puts a big crinkle in my updating efforts, and most likely I will be able to update only once a week at the max. This is assuming I can set up a chapter and have it almost all written before I get on the computer. I will honestly try to update as much as I can, and I am looking to hit that mark of updating once a week, however I can't promise anything. I have to work and all. You all must be thinking, "Well, you hardly ever up date twice in one week." So, if I do, do this, then it shouldn't change much. Just a heads off in case people think I have deserted this plot, because I haven't. I have plans for next chapter including two lesbians in love and a bratty kid.

Have a great summer, I will try as best I can to update, and thank you all for reading!

**-Li**


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